


Very Busy People

by orphan_account



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Alternate Universe - College, Gen, Holiday Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They all feign finals to stay an extra week even though Chuck is the only one with a legitimate in-class final.</i> Julie’s home away from home Christmas party ensues.</p><p>A quiet slice of life look at college!Burners as they part ways for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Very Busy People

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewondersmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewondersmith/gifts).



> Written as a treat for Yuletide '12. Happy holidays, lady!

They all feign finals to stay an extra week even though Chuck is the only one with a legitimate in-class final (biochem hell-oh-one). With the others turning in their last end-of-quarter projects--a painting for Dutch, a dance recital for Julie, a women’s studies research paper for Texas, and an article on old Detroit for Mike--days ago, Chuck is the only one that brings a ten pound textbook to Julie’s home away from home Christmas party.  
  
He takes over the couch and tries to decipher his own lecture notes while the others decorate the tree and string up fairy lights through the drapes. It’s easy enough to tune out Texas’s demands for bigger balls on the tree and the carollers (with a few happy drunk stragglers celebrating their own finals’ end) passing in the hall.  
  
Mike interrupts every fifteen minutes to top off his chamomile and rearrange his hair to keep it out of his eyes. In the middle of Chuck’s week seven notes, Mike lifts his head off the armrest to snap a light medical mask over his mouth and nose while Dutch starts a mural on the back of Julie’s front door--a Christmas present for her and her roommates.  
  
By the time Chuck allows himself a break, a pitcher of eggnog has replaced his backpack on the coffee table and Texas has put on the unintentionally hilarious Mariah Carey Christmas album to christen the new surround sound system Julie’s father sent her. He stretches out his legs and pulls them in before Texas can sit down on them, and he lifts his head again to let Mike sit down.  
  
Julie watches Dutch work and hands him the cans he asks for as she tries to get Claire on Skype (though the cruise wifi is nowhere near as crystal as advertised) to show her the progress.  
  
“Oh, _wonderful_ ,” Claire says loudly enough to be heard over Joy to the World. “Now our love nest actually _looks_ like a love nest. What is your father going to say?”  
  
Julie takes the call into her bedroom and Dutch takes a break. They swap out Mariah for _It’s a Wonderful Life_ (Texas’s manful sniffling begins almost immediately) and rescue the last batch of snickerdoodles from burning in the oven. By the time Julie comes back out to squeeze onto the half of the armchair Dutch isn’t using, they’re running low on holiday treats again.  
  
Chuck finds his notes in hiding when he reaches for them at halftime and frowns when Mike catches his arms to keep him from searching.  
  
“Biochem,” he says.  
  
Mike reaches over to grab the cookies and sets the plate down on his chest. “Food first.”  
  
Chuck tilts his head down to sniff at the plate and digs out half a gingerbread man. Mike produces a single sheet of notes and drops it onto Chuck’s stomach below the plate. They repeat the process until Chuck finishes the cookies and finds his stash of notes behind the couch cushions.  
  
The movie ends in the dark with happier sniffles and Julie puts an early millennia Gyllenhaal film (the case had perished some time ago in a shrimp-stove-fire incident) back into the DVD player. No one stops the considerably less festive film from starting as they move to the kitchen to give Chuck some room.  
  
They use up ten pounds of flour and feed all of Julie’s neighbors by midnight. Chuck is dozing by the time they come back from running a castle-shaped bundt cake down to the theater sophomores downstairs. Mike takes his notes again (Texas hides them this time despite the fact that his usual policy of _bigger_ and _more_ doesn’t apply well to the art of hiding) and covers his eyes during the Chuck-deemed scary parts of the movie.  
  
“All done, Chuckles?”  
  
Chuck looks around for his notes, then for his textbook, and eventually gives in with a nod. “Never, Mikey.”  
  
Mike laughs and hands him the medical mask again as Dutch goes back to work on the door. He helps Chuck up and does those yoga stretches they learned down at the fitness center last week with him before steering him into the kitchen for a drink. Julie finds clean glasses for them and sneaks a few flashcard review questions to Chuck while they wait for the gravy to boil.  
  
They all sit down for dinner once the film credits roll and someone hits replay, just after two in the morning. Texas loosens his belt before he even starts and Dutch trades seats with Chuck after he washes his hands to get on the vegetarian side of the table. Julie turns off the lights and turns on the fairy lights to set the mood. (Chuck definitely doesn’t scream a little when the apartment goes dark for a second as she’s swapping lights.)  
  
The movie keeps playing and the noise from the party upstairs starts to melt away. The dishwasher is on its last load by the time the sun starts to light up the room. Dutch starts yawning by the time he finishes the door and bids everyone goodnight as he packs up to crash in the spare bedroom for the morning.  
  
“Texas is out,” Texas says. “Texas is going to drive Amanda upstate and meet her mystery father.”  
  
“Texas is dropping _Julie_ off at the airport,” Julie says as she works one of her keys off the heavily cat-ornamented chain. She pockets the chain and holds up the single. “Have Dutch lock up for me. You heading to Jacob’s, in Detroit?”  
  
Mike nods and pulls Chuck’s things out from the cookie jars Texas stuffed them into. Julie sets the key down on Chuck’s stomach before patting his sneakers. He kicks his feet absently over the armrest of her couch, where he’d stretched out for a post-meal, post-study nap.  
  
“And this one?” she asks as she holds out Chuck’s backpack for Mike to drop his notes and books into.  
  
Mike nods again. He tears out a blank sheet from Chuck’s notebook to make out a note to Dutch before he sits himself down on the armrest, pulling Chuck’s feet over his knees. “Taking this one with me.”  
  
“For three weeks?”  
  
Julie produces an armful of presents from the linen cabinet by the door and sets a box down next to the note for Dutch. She drops two more onto the floor by the the couch and tucks one under her arm that was wrapped too brightly with too many flame-deco patterns to be anyone’s but Texas’s.  
  
Mike stands for a hug when she holds out her free arm.  
  
“Drive safe,” she says. “Godspeed.”  
  
Mike laughs and wishes her the same. He packs away the leftovers, checks the stove, and buckles Chuck in downstairs before he’s even properly awake. Dutch checks his work in the afternoon and locks up before he leaves for home.  
  
They leave the lights up and _Donnie Darko_ playing.


End file.
